Rowan
The whiskey burned its way down my throat, but it wasn't enough to drown the unease twisting in my chest. I wish I could say walking away from the situation made me feel better but that would be a lie.
I couldn't be near him when I knew he was damn well lying to me. I couldn't pretend like I wasn't hurt.
I'd been sitting at the bar for what felt like hours, nursing the same drink, when a man slid into the seat beside me. He didn't say a word, just placed a folded piece of paper in front of me before walking away.
I frowned, debating whether to even open it. I wasn't in the habit of chasing cryptic invitations, but curiosity got the better of me. Unfolding the note, I found only a single line: a location scrawled in a messy hand.
